


save the date

by pleurer



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Hair-pulling Kink, Happy Ending, Humour, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Peter and Tony go to Japan, Peter is 22, Semi-Public Sex, Smut, Tony is uhhh [looks at smudged writing on hand], Vacation, and fight some bad guys in the process
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-25
Updated: 2019-07-25
Packaged: 2020-07-19 20:56:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19980391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pleurer/pseuds/pleurer
Summary: “Do you have any idea who it is?” says Peter.“No,” says Tony. He takes off the Iron Man suit and smooths down his street clothes. “Plenty of people want me dead. I just wish they wouldn’t do it in front of you. It’s ruining our date.”Peter and Tony’s romantic getaway keeps getting thwarted by bad guys. Neither of them are having it, especially not Tony.





	save the date

**Author's Note:**

> For the [Starker Bingo square: ‘Anniversary’](https://paspleurer.tumblr.com/post/186554517591/save-the-date-by-pleurer-petertony-explicit). I wrote most of this a long while back and got too busy to edit/post, so here it is now— a purely self-indulgent Peter/Tony romcom featuring copious amounts of fluff, banter, and sex. And it somehow has more plot than anything I’ve written for P/T, so I see this as an absolute win.
> 
> Not Endgame or FFH compliant, though I kept the phrase ‘Peter tingle’ for reasons.

They don’t get to travel together that often, despite the disproportionate number of private jets in Tony’s backyard. Between the two of them, running Stark Industries, trying not to flunk out of college, and juggling superhero responsibilities are enough to keep them busy. But when Tony gets a cordial invite to a technology expo in Japan, right after the very last final exam of Peter’s entire undergraduate degree, Tony clears his schedule of all responsibilities so that they can treat themselves to a three-day weekend getaway. It’s as much of a college graduation gift as it is a chance for them to be alone together, shoulders momentarily free of the weight of responsibility they’ve gotten used to bearing.

The business portion of the trip is great. Peter gets a bit too excited and rambly about the new tech that’s on display, but Tony watches him take it all in, eyes crinkled at the edges. Peter sticks by Tony’s side most of the time, listening to Tony charm everybody with his wit and intellect. Some of the businesspeople think he and Tony make a great couple, while others think he is Tony’s platonic business associate, and a small subset, surprisingly, wants a piece of Peter for themselves. As for that last category, Peter finds himself enjoying the way Tony’s grip around his shoulder tightens possessively. 

Right before the closing ceremony, Tony gets up on stage and makes a short speech about all of Stark Industries’ recently released and upcoming tech, namely the nanotech generator. Stored in a small metallic box that fit in the palm of your hand, it could expand into a generator that safely fired up energy strong enough to power a small city, to be used in times of natural disaster. Peter remembers it fondly, for he had woken up to Tony tinkering with the blueprints at four in the morning. A more reasonable boyfriend might have told him to go back to bed, but Peter had stayed up with Tony, hashing out the details, offering some suggestions which Tony expertly incorporated into his calculations until he was satisfied enough to tuck Peter under his arm and fall back asleep. 

At the end of the speech, Tony credits Peter as his tireless and extremely supportive boyfriend, and blows him a kiss. Peter blows one back, making it clear to everyone present that he is not Tony’s platonic business associate after all. 

Once the expo is over, they head on back to the hotel. It’s ten or so minutes away from where the expo was held, on an artificially constructed island that overlooks the water. Ned told him that the district was once built as defense forts, and was now a popular tourist destination. Peter thinks it’s quite a fitting location for him and Tony. 

Their penthouse suite is homey and spacious, a minimalistic yet luxurious combination of western and traditional Japanese interior design. “Wow,” says Peter, taking it all in. He runs a hand along the sliding door of the living room, and tries to resist poking a hole in the thin paper surface. “This is really fancy. You went all out.”

Tony shrugs. “Only the best for the best.” 

“Are you calling me the best, or just bragging about yourself?”

“Both.” Tony wraps an arm around Peter. “Also, feel free to poke that, if you want. I own this hotel chain.”

“Of course you do.” Peter pokes a hole through the paper. It feels just as satisfying as he thought it would. 

He takes Tony by the hand, leading him out onto the balcony. They have a perfect vantage point of the water. The setting sun casts a serene pink glow that glitters off of the waves, making Peter feel at ease. There’s also a hot tub there on the balcony, high up enough that people couldn’t see them, but still providing them with a scenic view. Too tired to go anywhere else for the evening, they decide to make use of the tub.

The hot water soothes Peter’s muscles pleasantly, something he desperately needed after the long flight and full day of making nice with industry professionals. He lets his head fall back against the edge of the tub, and lets out a long, relaxed sigh. Tony leans back and sighs, too, resting his arm along the outside edge of the tub, behind Peter’s head.

The evening breeze is nice and cool on Peter’s face, a contrast to the steam rising from the water. Peter looks out at the water, the small white tufts of clouds hanging above it. There’s a ferris wheel in the distance— Peter would’ve loved to go on it, before his powers, when that was the fastest and most romantic way to experience a bird’s-eye view of the city. He turns to Tony to comment on that, but Tony is already watching him, fond smile playing at the corners of his mouth. He looks stunning in the setting sun. Peter feels breathless, like he’s fourteen again and seeing Tony up close for the first time.

“What’re you thinking about?” says Peter.

“You,” says Tony plainly. He reaches a hand out to play with Peter’s hair, stroking it as absentmindedly as the smile that has bloomed across his face. 

A pleasant warmth spreads through Peter, all the way to his toes. “What about me?” he asks.

Tony smirks. “Fishing for compliments, are we?” 

Peter leans his head back into Tony’s touch. “I might be fishing for more than that.”

“Patience, young Padawan. We’ll get there.”

Sure enough, it takes an incredibly short amount of time for Tony’s touch to go from soothing to arousing. Soon, Peter’s breathing heavy, biting down on his bottom lip. Tony notices, and slows down the touch so that it’s tantalizing, fingers scratching lightly and teasingly along the nape of Peter’s neck. 

“Does that feel good, sweetheart?” Tony coaxes. He tightens his grip in Peter’s hair and tugs. Peter moans, unable to resist his ensuing full-body shudder. 

“Yeah,” he says, a little shaky. “Feels good.” He can feel himself getting real hard, real fast. 

“You going to come for me, just like this?” 

Peter lets out a breathy moan. He could, with nothing but Tony’s hand alternating between rubbing slow circles in his scalp and tugging his hair with just the right amount of force. It’s maybe a little embarrassing. Over the years, he’s gotten much better at dialing his senses back in every situation but this. But Tony loves it, and Peter loves that Tony loves it. 

“It’s just,” says Peter. “We’re outside. There might be people.”

Tony pauses. “Is that a problem?”

“No,” says Peter. He doubts anyone’s listening— his Peter tingle would alert him to footsteps, or some sign of movement on the balconies below. Still, he can’t say the thought doesn’t make him tingle in other ways. “Just figured if we’re going to put on a show, we should give them something more than hair petting.”

With a  _ swish  _ of the water, he clambers into Tony’s lap and straddles him. He kisses Tony, long and slow and deep, rocking his hips against him. Tony’s hand is busy, buried tightly in his hair, so Peter reaches down and strokes their cocks together, drawing a low groan from Tony. 

“Want you,” Peter says into the corner of Tony’s mouth. 

“Yeah, kid?” says Tony. “Tell me how you want me.”

“Inside me, preferably,” says Peter. 

Tony kneads his ass, and Peter moans, rocks back into it. Tony dips a finger between his cheeks. “Later,” says Tony. “Once we’re in bed. We’ve got all night.” The barest brush of his finger against Peter’s hole gets him to whimper, melting against Tony. A purposeful tug of Peter’s hair, skirting the pleasant edge of pain, coupled with Tony’s finger circling Peter’s rim, is enough to tip Peter over the edge. He comes with a muffled cry into the crook of Tony’s neck. 

Tony strokes his hair as he catches his breath, until Peter reaches up and removes Tony’s hand. “Too much,” he says. “Just give me a second.” When he comes down from his high, he doesn’t put Tony’s hand back in his hair, but instead intertwines their fingers. With his free hand, he jerks Tony off, sucking lightly along his neck and earlobe until Tony too comes undone in his grasp.

“I’m not sure that I can go again,” says Tony, breathless. “We don’t all have a healing factor.”

“That’s okay,” says Peter. They have a fancy dinner to eat, anyway.

They clean themselves up, dry off, and change into the yukata robes provided by the hotel. Dinner is brought to their room by a polite young woman who sets up a three-course meal for them on the table of the living room and promptly leaves, though Peter can tell she’s starstruck from her stolen glances at Tony. Peter only has to take one look at Tony lounging casually in his robe to understand. He would probably pass out if he was in her shoes. 

They clink their glasses of sake together and drink. A warmth spreads through Peter’s stomach, for which the alcohol is only partly to blame. The rest is due to the simple fact that four years into their relationship, there’s still the small but cherished joy of trying something new together. Peter munches delightfully on the grilled fish while sliding his foot slowly up Tony’s leg all the way to his inner thigh. Tony nearly spills his drink.

Dessert is matcha ice cream. Dessert number two is Tony eating Peter out on the king-sized bed, making him come three more times until he’s oversensitive and muffling sobs into his pillow, clutching it so hard it nearly tears.

After, Peter rolls onto his back, tired limbs pleasantly entangled with Tony’s. He meets Tony’s gaze, and his breath catches in his throat to see that Tony’s eyes are full to the brim with affection, a rush he’ll never quite get used to. 

“Hi,” says Peter.

“Hi,” says Tony, soft and subdued. He draws in a breath and opens his mouth again, like he wants to say something important, but then glances at the clock at their bedside table. “It’s late. How early do you want to be up tomorrow?”

“Depends,” says Peter. “What do you want to do?” 

Tony wraps one of Peter’s curls loosely around his finger, then lets it bounce free. “Whatever tickles your fancy.”

“It’s your tech expo,” says Peter. 

“It’s your college graduation,” counters Tony. 

Peter really doesn’t care where they go just so long as he’s with Tony. But there are some stops he wouldn’t mind making along the way. 

“Okay, so you know how Ned and MJ and I came here last year?” The three of them had made an overly ambitious thirty-page-long trip plan on a shared document. They had gotten through the first two pages of it, but all of that was thrown out the window when they caught some pervs on the train. After that, bad guys started popping up everywhere, and Peter didn’t get a chance to take off the suit. “There were a bunch of things we never got to do, that time. We could go through them all right now.” 

Peter pulls up the document on his Stark Phone. It’s written entirely in rainbow Comic Sans. Tony leans over Peter’s shoulder and raises an eyebrow as he reads through it. “Find MJ a girlfriend at the biggest nightclub in Japan?”

“Okay, maybe not  _ all  _ of them.” 

“Go to a cosplay convention in the Spider-Man suit, cosplaying as a cosplayer of yourself.” Tony pauses. “Very creative, Mr. Parker.”

“That would’ve been fun, okay?” says Peter defensively. Belatedly, he realizes that a lot of these things are just regular college student things. They’ve had the age conversation enough times, and Peter doesn’t care to repeat it. Still, he wants Tony to have a good time, too. “There are some good ideas in here. Like, crepes. Who doesn’t love crepes?” 

“You know we could find a high-end restaurant for that, right? We don’t have to grab street food. Unless you really want to.”

“Hey, I’ve lived a good chunk of my life trying to fit into yours,” Peter shrugs. “Maybe it’ll be fun to try it the other way around.”

“You’ve always fit into mine. Even when you didn’t, you had no problem fighting your way in.” Tony smiles. “But yeah, why not? Let’s do it. We’ll follow your itinerary. As long as we come back to the hotel and get a good night’s rest.”

Peter deletes  _ check out a love hotel  _ from the list in reluctant silence. “Sounds good.”

-

Their first stop is a temple— a famous tourist attraction, if the crowd is anything to go by. The pedestrian street leading up to it is packed with shops that sell colourful trinkets and local delicacies. Peter buys what is objectively too much dango for someone without a super-fast metabolism to stomach, and gets a weird look from the guy at the cash register. He also gets the dango sauce all over himself, but he doesn’t mind the weird look they both get when Tony leans in and licks it off the corner of his mouth.

The temple itself is just as majestic as it looked in Ned’s Google-searched photos. He sends some snaps to the group chat and enjoys the excited keysmashes he gets in response. Neither Peter nor Tony really believe in leaving their fates to the hands of anyone but themselves, but it feels wrong not to pray now that they’re here. So Peter thinks of May, of Ned and MJ, of Tony, and everyone else he loves— pictures them with a smile on their face, and prays for the power to keep it that way.

There’s a fortune-telling booth in the corner where you shake a can full of numbered sticks until one comes out, and the number on it matches the number of the drawer where your fortune is stored. Peter tries it out. The process is slightly complicated by the fact that neither of them can read Japanese, and Tony’s about to ask FRIDAY when a kind old lady comes to their aid in exchange for a selfie with Iron Man to show to her grandson. Peter pulls open the drawer and fishes out a piece of paper with his fortune on it, written in English on the back.

“What’d you get?” Tony asks, leaning unnecessarily onto Peter’s shoulder to read the fortune. His hair tickles the side of Peter’s face. He smells good.

“Bad luck,” says Peter, amused. He didn’t need a fortune to tell him that, when a spider bite at fourteen did the job. “It says here that I should ‘beware of potential enemies waiting to strike?’ Oh, it’s not all bad, though. Says here that it’s ‘an opportune time for marriage.’”

Tony coughs into his hand. “Well,” he says. He shoves a hand into his pocket, and has just barely opened his mouth to speak again when out of nowhere, a figure appears and smashes right into Peter. It would’ve knocked a normal civilian flat on their back, but Peter balances himself just in time to see the attacker aim a gun at Tony. 

“Damn,” says Peter. “The guy who wrote my fortune was really onto something.”

“Oh, you have no idea,” says Tony. The nanotech Iron Man suit envelops him in an instant, and he holds his blaster out at the— alien? Peter thinks it’s an alien. The creature has bumpy, rough skin, yellow eyes, and a muscular stature. 

“I almost had it,” the alien groans in a deep male voice. He turns to Peter accusingly. “Why did you have to be in the way? You’re making my job way harder than it has to be.”

“What  _ is  _ your job?” says Peter. The alien ignores him, so his mind moves back to strategy. There’s already a small crowd gathering to watch, so putting on the suit is out of the question. He mentally catalogs possible ways to help Tony out— distract the alien, maybe— as the attacker charges at Tony again. The alien dodges the blasts for about five seconds before Tony shoots him right in the chest and he collapses, groaning in pain.

“If aliens were going to crash our trip, they could at least be smarter,” says Peter. “Or nicer. We could be friends. It’d be like going on a tour.”

In response, the alien vanishes instantaneously.

“Rude,” says Peter. And then he realizes that the crowd gathered around them has vastly increased in size— wide-eyed children, and the knife-sharp glares of disapproving adults.

“I’m starting to get the feeling that we shouldn’t have done this at a site of worship,” says Tony. 

“Sorry, everyone,” says Peter, waving sheepishly. “It won’t happen again.”

They duck out of the watchful gaze of the public and head for the exit.

Peter turns to Tony as soon as they’re out of earshot. “So, aliens. Teleporting aliens. What should we do? Should we call SHIELD?”

“No need for that. Whoever it is just wants my head. There’s no danger to the civilians, asides from sacrilege, which won’t happen as long as we stay away from the temples.” 

“Do you have any idea who it is?” 

“No,” says Tony. He takes off the Iron Man suit and smooths down his street clothes. “Plenty of people want me dead. I just wish they wouldn’t do it in front of you. It’s ruining our date.”

_ “Tony.” _

“Sorry. No more of that.” Tony extends a hand. “I’m all yours. Where to next? Take me away. Sweep me off my feet.”

Peter grins and does as he’s told.

-

By the time they get to their next destination, the summer sun is beating down on them from high in the sky, and the throng of people bustling around them doesn’t make it better. Tony’s wearing a baseball cap that’s supposed to hide his identity, though he’s pretty recognizable regardless. Peter wishes he had one of his own, to shade him from the sun. Luckily, they’re on the busiest pedestrian street in this shopping district, lined with various storefronts.

Peter stops at a small, colourful clothing shop and grabs a bright pink hat with the word  _ baby  _ embezzled in sparkling white font across the front. “I want this one,” he says, trying to stifle the laugh bubbling up inside of him.

Tony takes a deep breath and lets it out through his nose. “Okay,” he says. 

Peter looks around the store. “Is there a matching one that says  _ da— _ ”

“No,” says Tony. “Just no.” He pays for it, and Peter wears the hat proudly outside of the store. Tony warms up to the idea, though, even sticks his hand into Peter’s back pocket as they walk.

Peter gets his crepes, and he also gets to lick whipped cream off the corner of Tony’s lips, returning the favour for the dango sauce earlier. And then he buys a giant thing of cotton candy that’s nearly three feet tall, and him and Tony place bets on how large the resulting mass would be if he crumpled the entire ball of cotton candy into a solid ball. Tony wins, but not by much, and his prize is that he gets the bigger piece. 

It’s nice, seeing Tony like this. Peter has worn many a stiff suit to Stark Industries events across the world, rambled nervously to so many industry executives, that this kind of thing is a breath of fresh air. The crowd is respectful, too. Peter catches people staring occasionally, but little to no commotion is made about the fact that Tony Stark is strolling around amidst the local youths of Tokyo with his sugar baby slash boyfriend, depending how you chose to interpret Peter’s hat.

They round a corner to find a quaint little cafe that sells omelet rice, and line up with the rest of the crowd waiting to get in— Peter tugs at Tony’s sleeve when Tony automatically walks up to the front of the line. 

“My way, remember?” says Peter.

“Just thought I’d help you get your way faster,” says Tony, but he steps back.

The wait isn’t that bad, not when he has good company. Once they get inside, the food is definitely worth it. The soufflé egg melts in Peter’s mouth as soon as it touches his tongue. Out the window, families and groups of friends and couples stroll through the colourful street. “This is nice,” says Peter. The space is small, which allows him to knock his knees against Tony’s every once in a while and pass it off as an accident. 

Tony smiles, and bumps his knee in return. “It really is.” He fixes Peter with a thoughtful look. He clears his throat. “So, happy anniversary. It takes a special kind of person to put up with me for four years and not pull all their hair out, but congratulations, you made it.”

Peter blinks. “That’s— oh my God. That’s today?” His chest feels warm at the realization that Tony had planned all this.

“If I recall,” says Tony. “Our first wine and dine happened right after you graduated high school, didn’t it? God, that sounds even worse when you say it out loud.” He runs a hand over his face.

“It’s not that bad,” says Peter. “I’ve been mentally dating you without your permission since I was fourteen. I’ve got notebooks with  _ Peter Stark  _ doodled in the margins to prove it.”

Tony huffs out a laugh. “You’re really something, you know that?” he says, soft. He reaches into the pocket of his jeans, like he’s got something for Peter. But in that precise moment, they’re interrupted by the waitress, who’s carrying a fresh pot of fruit tea.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Tony mutters under his breath. 

“Don’t be rude,” says Peter. To the waitress, he says, “We didn’t order tea.”

“It’s a gift for Mr. Iron Man,” she says, and sets the pot down. “From the customer over there.” She turns, brow furrowing in confusion. Whoever had paid for it was apparently no longer there. Looking frazzled, she bows and excuses herself.

“Don’t drink it,” Peter murmurs. His senses are on high alert. 

“Wasn’t planning to,” says Tony lowly, and then asks FRIDAY to identify the substance. “Sleeping pills,” he mutters under his breath. “Real creative.”

“You should take a sip, and then act like you’ve passed out,” says Peter. “Maybe they’ll show up then.”

“Worth a shot,” says Tony. “It’ll be good to know whether I can take up acting if the Iron Man thing doesn’t pan out.” He takes a fake sip of the drink, and puts on an Oscar-worthy show of dramatically falling over unconscious.

This time, now that Peter’s prepared, he’s able to sense it a split second before he sees the alien materialize. It’s a different one, slightly taller than the first, but of the same species. The alien wastes no time charging at Tony. It’s really inconvenient that Peter can’t put on the suit in front of all the customers, but he’ll make do. He picks up his chair and throws it, knocking both the alien and a neighbouring table onto the floor. Egg and tomato sauce splatters everywhere.

“Sorry,” he says to the customer, who looks like she’s seen a ghost. “I’m so sorry. Your next one’s on me.” Tony, meanwhile, has risen from his chair and is fully suited up. He charges at the alien, who promptly vanishes again. It’s a cool power. Too bad he’s dealing with Spider-Man. 

“On your left,” Peter calls out, and Tony manages to slam a powerful punch into the alien before it slams into him. The alien falls over onto the ground, turning visible again. Tony steps down on the alien’s chest.

“Damn it,” the alien groans. “Okay, you got me. I’m done. Plan was stupid, didn’t work, won’t do it again.” 

“Yeah,” says Peter. “Big time. Drugging someone’s drink? Talk about cliche.”

“Guess this is cliché, too,” says the alien, right before he presses a button on his belt and vanishes completely.

Tony groans. 

“At least we know where their teleportation devices are,” says Peter. “For next time.”

“Don’t jinx it,” says Tony. “There will  _ not  _ be a next time.”

After the shock has settled, the poor waitresses fall over themselves apologizing for the inconvenience. Peter and Tony insist that they should be the ones apologizing. He’s not too sure how much comes across with the language barrier, but Tony sets down a fat wad of cash on the counter, which Peter thinks is a universal language for ‘sorry for the inconvenience,’ and then they hightail it out of there.

-

They proceed with the trip as planned, because normal for them has always been different from normal for the general public anyway. Their next stop is an arcade.

“Look,” says Peter, pointing excitedly. “It’s us.” Sure enough, plush dolls of all the Avengers are put on display in a crane game right by the entrance. Iron Man and Spider-Man are squished up next to one another, with Spider-Man upside down, face pressed right up to Iron Man’s plush backside.

“Look at that,” says Tony. “Who would’ve known Spider-Man was an exhibitionist?”

Last night’s pleasant memory plays in Peter’s mind like a film reel. “Maybe it was Iron Man’s idea. We could ask him. That is, if you can get him out of there.” He drops a coin into the machine.

There’s a glint of amusement, but also competitiveness, that flares up in Tony’s eyes. “Who do you take me for?”

Tony grabs Spider-Man on the first try, and Peter catches Iron Man on his. Two hundred yen for plush versions of themselves is not a bad deal, even if Tony could technically buy a whole factory to make them any time he wanted. It’s the sentimental value that counts. 

Peter monitors the area occasionally, but the arcade is alien-free for the duration of time that they spend in it. He focuses single-mindedly on beating Tony at various games— car racing, first-person shooters, rhythm games with upbeat electronic music. Peter thought having enhanced reflexes would give him an advantage at that, but the dedicated regular standing next to him and Tony easily crushes them both. Man, arcade-goers are really intense.

They take some pictures in a very pink photobooth, and Peter busts a lung laughing at the unrealistic auto-enlargement of Tony’s eyes that makes him look like a bug-eyed alien. Tony doodles devil horns on Peter’s head, and Peter draws hearts all over the both of them, and keeps the printed photo in his phone case. They walk out hand in hand, Peter pondering what the world will look like in ten years once somebody (probably Tony) invents some kind of appearance-altering AR for everybody, and Tony insisting that Peter would only use it to gain a height advantage over Tony and that would be very unfair.

Peter wonders what it’d be like if they had all the time in the world, the freedom to map out a new city and try all the little things that the locals did. If they didn’t have lives full of responsibility to get back to, or villains showing up to put a wrench in their plans. But life is full of trade-offs. As he glances up at the towering buildings that line both sides of the street, he pictures the thrill of swinging across the tops of them, guided by the wind at his back, and decides there are some things he just can’t give up. Besides, he thinks, squeezing Tony’s hand in his own, it’s more than a fair trade.

-

They head back to the hotel for the room service dinner one more time, because it’s the best ice cream that Peter’s ever had, and honestly he’s kind of hoping for a round two of the rimming thing. Maybe he could classically condition Tony to respond to ice cream. For science, of course.

After dessert, they take a chaste bath together. Peter forgets about his Pavlovian plan, highly distracted by the jets in the shower. They change into the robes and fall onto the bed together, and Peter sighs, body relaxing as Tony trails kisses full of promise down his neck. Peter lets him take his time and leave biting marks along his collarbone that will unfortunately fade all too fast, until they’re both half-hard, and then he grips Tony’s hips and rocks up into him.

“Getting eager, are we?” Tony flashes him a smile. His hand dips under the fabric and he wraps it around Peter’s cock and strokes. Peter moans, bracing his hand on the back of Tony’s neck to hold himself steady.

Every flick of Tony’s wrist gets Peter gasping and his toes curling in the sheets. Tony rolls sideways on the bed, propping himself up on an elbow and watching with heavy-lidded eyes as Peter is brought to the edge. When Peter tenses up in the telltale sign that he’s close, Tony pulls back deliberately, and watches with mild amusement as Peter pants and wriggles against the sheets.

“Tony,” says Peter, strained.

“What, Peter?” Tony raises an eyebrow nonchalantly. “I don’t know what you want unless you ask for it.” 

There’s a long list, but Peter makes a snap decision. “I need you to fuck me,” he says. “I needed it like, yesterday.”

Tony chuckles. “You going to be good for me and ask politely?” 

“Nnnghh,” says Peter. 

Tony pulls back further and moves to get off the bed.

“ _ Please,  _ Mr. Stark,” Peter says, shrugging the robe off of one shoulder, voice dripping with need. He lifts his hips up and punctuates the motion with a practiced moan. “Need your cock inside me. Need you to fill me up.”

Tony closes his eyes for a brief moment, like his life is flashing before his eyes. “God, kid, I was just going to get the lube. You didn’t have to pull out all the stops.”

Peter laughs and nudges Tony with the ball of his foot. “What are you waiting for? Go get it.” 

Peter grabs a pillow and shoves it under his hips in preparation as Tony heads for the suitcase. And then, at the worst possible time because Peter’s life is a shitty romcom, there’s a deafening sound of glass shattering as two large figures crash their way in. 

The two aliens that are now standing right smack in the middle of their hotel room are more than enough to kill Peter’s boner. One of them is a murky shade of green, and the other is a dull shade of blue. They look just about the same as the previous two, except they’re wearing hats with shiny gold badges on them to signify that they’re the big bad bosses.

Peter had been safely sheltered on the bed, but the force of the wind when the aliens crashed in had apparently sent Tony’s robe flying open. The two aliens gawk, displeased, at Tony’s exposed form.

“Take a picture,” says Tony. “It’ll last longer.” 

“Ugh,” the blue alien groans, averting his eyes. 

The green one turns to his companion. “Does all human genitalia look like that?” 

“Um, no,” Peter pipes up, hopping off the bed to get their attention. “Mine looks better.”

Tony shoots Peter an affronted look. He ties up his robe and covers himself back up.

“Okay, yeah, I don’t care,” says the blue alien. He crosses his arms. “We’re here for one thing, and you’re going to give it to us.”

“I don’t care who you are or what you want,” Tony says, fists clenched and ready for attack. “I’ve been ready to blow some brains out all day long, and you two are first in line.”

“The box,” says the blue alien. “Where’s the box?”

“What box?” says Peter.

The green alien picks up the pair of pants Tony had discarded onto the floor earlier. “Aha,” he says, reaching into the pocket. “There it is. The nanotech generator. Box that fits in the palm of your hand. I don’t know why those guys we hired couldn’t get it— they had  _ one job _ .” He pulls out a small red box and flips it open. 

It’s not a nanotech generator. Even from this distance, the light reflects beautifully off of the small golden ring nestled in the box. Peter’s breath catches in his throat. He whips his head around to face Tony, who’s avoiding his gaze. Peter opens and closes his mouth, but no words come to him. 

“That’s not a generator,” says the blue alien, wrinkling his nose in disappointment. He closes the box, then pulls a silver gun out of his holster and aims it at Tony. “Where is it?”

“Maybe it’s inside the ring,” the green one suggests.

“You are not touching that damn ring,” says Tony, and the undercurrent of rage in his voice makes even Peter shiver. 

The green alien catches on, and raises his gun too. “Just hand it over, alright? The nanotech generator. Not the ring. We don’t care about the ring.”

Tony doesn’t dignify them with a response. He simply equips the Iron Man suit. Given what they were doing moments ago, Peter can’t help the way his dick stirs automatically from how sexy the suit looks, red and gold nanotech creeping up over his body and shielding it in one smooth, sleek motion.

Peter dons his own Iron Spider suit. The familiar weight of metal cloaks him from head to toe in a half-second. Despite it being kind of tight around his semi, he gears up to fight. They’ll deal with that later. That, and the ring.

They charge at the aliens. Tony sends a heavy blast that they both manage to dodge in time. Peter’s impressed by their reflexes— they still don’t seem all that smart, but they can fight better than the first two guys. The teleportation is the biggest problem, allowing them to evade close calls and execute sneak attacks. Tony’s got FRIDAY scanning the area to figure out their attack patterns, and Peter’s engaging his senses full throttle. He’s pretty occupied with trying not to let the green guy land a hit on any of his vitals, and so he just barely catches the blue guy launching a surprise attack on Tony from behind. Swinging over and intercepting with a drop-kick, he shoots some webbing and narrowly misses, though Tony manages to back the guy into the webbing and get him stuck long enough to land a mean hit. The alien groans in pain, and a considerable amount of dark red blood splatters across the sheets of their bed. 

“God, I can’t believe  _ that’s  _ the reason why we have to change our sheets,” says Peter. He feels very cheated out of the orgasm he could have had earlier. In that one moment of slight distraction, the green guy lands a hit with his laser gun directly to Peter’s gut. It doesn’t pierce the metal of the suit, but it knocks the breath out of him. His back hits the wall, and he braces himself for another hit, but Tony slams his weight into the green alien’s side, knocking him over.

“You okay?” asks Tony hurriedly, while wrestling with the alien.

“I’m good,” says Peter. He tries to aim his web shooters at the alien to pin him down, but Blue lands two shots directly on his web shooters, rendering them ineffective. 

“Shit,” he curses under his breath. He’s still got his quick reflexes, though, which come in handy when Blue fires a succession of laser beams at him. He backflips over them and lets the lasers scorch dark, wavy lines in the walls, but luckily they’re not strong enough to pierce them. 

“Thanks for the free wall art,” says Peter. He hoists himself up to hang upside-down from the ceiling, where he waits for Blue to attack so that the laser beams slice the ceiling fan clean off. The fan falls onto Blue right where Tony had wounded him earlier, and conveniently smashes the teleportation device on his belt to smithereens.

With the blue guy pinned down, Peter has a moment of time to fix up his web shooters, and by the time Blue gets back up, Peter’s got the shooters back up and running again. As the green alien looks like he’s about to land a hit on Tony, Peter fires fast, webbing the laser gun shut and knocking it out of his grasp. With that taken care of, Tony wastes no time pinning the alien down to the ground. He shatters the green alien’s teleportation device with a blast, and slams his foot down onto the alien’s wrist, hard. The alien’s fist flies open, and the small red box with the ring ( _ the ring,  _ Peter reminds himself, heart beating impossibly fast) tumbles out of his grasp and onto the ground. Tony snatches it right up. Peter webs the guys up real good, feeling a little out of breath and a lot like the world’s coolest power couple. Tony aims his blasters at their foreheads.

“Where do you come from?” demands Tony. “Are there any more of you? Tell us, or you’re dead meat. I’m not letting anybody else go tonight with their heads attached to their necks.”

“Hey, hey. Chill out, man,” says the green alien. “We just wanted to steal your nanotech and sell it back on our home planet. We don’t want to kill you.”

“Is that it? That’s what all of you wanted?” says Peter. 

The blue alien nods.

“That’s unfortunate, because you’re not getting it,” says Tony. 

“Can we at least get the ring?” the green one pipes up.

Tony socks him in the face. And then, just for good measure, he turns to the blue one and socks him in the face, too. 

After that, it all gets taken care of relatively quickly and peacefully. FRIDAY gets in touch with SHIELD, who sends a couple agents to whisk the aliens away for detainment, or deportation, or something like that. Once the intruders are gone, Peter and Tony deactivate their suits, and heave a sigh of relief.

Peter flashes Tony a grin. “On the bright side, we should have total privacy on our date tomorrow.” Small victories.

Tony does not look victorious. Tony looks defeated. He sits down on the edge of the bed, holding his head in between his hands. The small red box sits forlornly next to him.

“Tony?” says Peter. He sits down next to him, placing a gentle hand on his leg. “Are you okay?”

Tony looks at him. He brings his hands up, then lets them flop down at his sides. “Not how this was supposed to happen, but. Guess the cat’s out of the bag.” He casts Peter a dry smile. “Happy’s been holding onto the ring for the past two years, but I got him to hand it to me before we hopped on the plane—” 

“Wait, wait, hold on,” says Peter. “You’ve had the ring for  _ two years?”  _

“Give or take,” says Tony, looking uncertain. “I know. I jumped the gun. There was a store, and I was just walking by— yeah no, who am I kidding. I custom made it myself.” 

“You’ve had it for two years and you never  _ told  _ me?”

“I was waiting for the perfect moment,” says Tony. “There were a lot of distractions. Super-suits to design, asses to kick, you had your exams, I had my crippling self-doubt. The list goes on.”

“Tony,” says Peter softly. “There is no perfect moment, okay? Look at us. We’re probably banned from at least two major tourist stops. Our hotel room’s a mess. There’s alien blood all over the bed— actually, I think I might be sitting in it right now. But you know what? I don’t care. Because it comes with the package, and I  _ love  _ the package.”

Tony huffs out a laugh, eyes twinkling. “Oh, now you do? Wouldn’t have killed you to say it in front of those aliens, earlier.”

Peter takes Tony’s hand and strokes his thumb across the back of it. “For the record, I love that, too.”

Tony smiles at him, something small and reverent and almost shy, if  _ shy  _ was a word in Tony Stark’s dictionary. “You still didn’t answer the question,” he says.

“You haven’t asked,” Peter replies. Just because he’s always known the answer doesn’t mean he doesn’t still want to hear it. 

Tony gets down on one knee, flips the box open, and fixes Peter with an intent gaze, overwhelming in its sincerity. “Peter Parker,” he says. “Will you marry me?”

Peter beams, happiness overflowing from inside him. “ _ Yes,  _ Tony,” he says breathlessly. “A thousand times yes.”

With steady hands, Tony slips the ring onto Peter’s finger. It fits snugly and feels just right, a physical manifestation of a promise Peter has long since made in the depths of his heart. Every second not spent touching Tony is suddenly agonizing, so Peter pulls him up into a hug, then slots their lips together in a kiss, perfect in its simplicity. Peter thinks that he could do this forever, and then realizes he  _ can _ , which only makes him burst with joy all over again.

A knock sounds at their door, fast and kind of panicked. 

“I know you have a no-killing rule,” says Tony, pulling away reluctantly. “But how does barbecued aliens sound for a late-night snack?”

“I really don’t think it’s aliens,” says Peter.

Peter answers the door. It’s not aliens. Just a pale-faced hotel staff and two security guards, glancing with bewilderment at the broken window and all the blood. 

“Oh,” says Peter. “Sorry. There were, um. Aliens. It’s an occupational hazard. Don’t worry, Mr. Stark and I will pay for everything.” 

They manage to convince the hotel staff that no, they did not need a room change, just a change of sheets, please— and after that, the staff finally leave. Peter shuts the door behind them, relieved they’re finally alone again. 

“Should I stop calling you Mr. Stark?” says Peter. “Am  _ I  _ Mr. Stark now?”

“If you want to be,” says Tony, like he’s thought about it before. “I wouldn’t mind taking your name. We’d have to do a whole rebrand of Stark Industries, and Pepper would skin me alive, but we could pull it off.” 

Peter shudders at the thought. “Better not. Besides, you know how much I like Peter Stark. I can show off my notebooks now.”

He hops backwards onto the bed, now freshly made with clean sheets. Tony joins him, lays down on his back and pulls Peter up on top of him. His eyes twinkle up at him, appreciative. “That’s why you married me? For a name change and bragging rights?”

“You caught me,” says Peter. He trails a finger suggestively along the dip of Tony’s collarbone. “So, now that you have me, what do you say we make the marriage official?”

Tony hooks his arms around Peter’s waist, bringing him closer. “Oh no, Pete, I’m not letting you deflower me before our wedding night. How can I wear a white dress in good conscience?”

Peter grins. “So you’ll wear a dress?” He kisses Tony’s neck, trails his hands down his chest, grinning wider as Tony shudders and arches up into him. “It’d look good on you.”

“I take that back,” says Tony. 

“Or,” Peter offers, “you could have sex with me now, and wear anything you want for the wedding.”

Tony raises his eyebrows. “Am I being blackmailed?”

Peter beams. “Only if you want to be.”

Tony flashes him a lopsided smile, eyes crinkling warmly at the edges. “Oh, believe me,” he says, “I do.”


End file.
